


bodyshots@sochi, the #afterparty

by lyefish (belgianblue)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Blue Balls, Body Shots, Canon Compliant, GPF Sochi, Grand Prix Final Banquet, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Banquet, Sadsturbation, thirst, yuurito
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belgianblue/pseuds/lyefish
Summary: If the banquet had felt like a revelation, a dream, a bolt from the blue, the perfect floating moment before slamming back down to earth – then the after-party feels like the euphoria of free fallorthe Sochi GPF afterparty; a beautiful, sloppy-sweet disaster in 3(ish) parts





	bodyshots@sochi, the #afterparty

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry mom.

 

If the banquet had felt like a revelation, a dream, a bolt from the blue, the perfect floating moment before slamming back down to earth – then the after-party feels like the euphoria of free fall, light and color and sound blurred together, heart beating out of his chest, burning up, in flames.

 

If he had been struck dumb, dazed, stupid by Yuuri Katsuki barreling into his life now he feels consumed, he wants to reach, to grasp, never let go – he's greedy for it, (for warmth, for feeling, for life, and he thinks he can steal it – in the perfect curve of Yuuri's spine, the soft arch at the sole of his foot, in, in – ) every last piece.

 

Victor feels himself slide back into the present when the ambient sound suddenly shifts, one of the people that Chris sent off earlier returning with two handles of tequila, a bag of limes, and some salt. Cheers and whoops erupt around the room. His eyes are drawn back to Yuuri Katsuki who has abruptly spun around from where he was dancing on the coffee table attention drawn by the commotion.

 

Victor feels his mouth go dry at the wicked grin that stretches across Yuuri's face when he sees the new supplies. Victor downs two vodka shots in rapid succession (from the line of shots on the counter of the hotel room mini bar someone had _oh so thoughtfully_ laid out) letting the burn travel down his throat into his gut, mixing with the champagne already there.

 

He feels alive in his own skin for the first time since before he can recall really – and he wants to chase this burning trail for as long as he can, as far as it will lead.

 

* * *

 

If the room was half in lust with Yuuri Katsuki before they started in on the body shots – then they are fully and completely lost to him now. Or maybe he's just projecting. No, he's definitely not projecting. The minute he left Yuuri's side (his first mistake) to grab some napkins for a spill (which proved be meaningless anyway as Yuuri just stripped down to his boxer briefs again anyway), Yuuri's been occupied by the crowd. Victor is _definitely not_ trying to drown his jealousy.

 

_(He danced with_ me _, he invited_ me _to his home.)_

 

Victor has been steadily downing alcohol for every body shot Yuuri does (he's never wanted to be so many other people before). Chris, Emil, Sara (and Mickey – who was caught wrong footed when he tried to jump up to defend Sara's “honor” only to have a lime shoved into his mouth and be swept back into a chair by Yuuri who then performed his next body shot in his lap – _unfair_ (Victor downs an extra shot just for this)). 

 

By the time that ice dancer (Chase? _Chad?_ Whatever) creeps forward for his turn, Victor has just about had enough and with the last few drinks still burning hot in his veins, Victor slides forward, slow, lazy, and predatory. The message is clear; you've all had your fun ( _all of you who've had the chance anyway_ ) but it's _my turn now._

 

When he approaches (totally not filled with petty satisfaction at how Chad-whatever is so easily brushed aside) Yuuri's eyes swivel to his – locked on, as if finding true north. His lips part just so (so _so perfectly_ , Victor could drink from them indefinitely), plump and shiny from licking salt off bodies. Victor is just hazy enough to also be a little jealous of tequila salt too at this specific moment in time – seeing a small grain still clinging to the corner of Yuuri's mouth. He's suddenly and abruptly struck by a very vivid fantasy of other white things clinging to the corner of that deliciously obscene mouth.

 

He's pulled back to reality by the feeling of Yuuri reeling him in by his tie, pressing him into the armchair, clambering onto his lap, straddling his hips, and undoing his tie along with the top few buttons of his shirt to expose his collarbones to the air. He has just enough presence of mind to wedge a lime between his teeth when he feels the sprinkle of salt against his skin.

 

Yuuri is a warm weight in his lap, but his tongue is warmer. Victor's heart is aflame (and his dick, but mostly his heart) and he can't look away; not when Yuuri pulls back, licking his lower lip as if chasing the taste of Victor's skin, and not when he tilts his head back to take the shot – the long, smooth column of his throat exposed and tempting, begging to be marked, and definitely not when he leans in close to get the lime.

 

When Yuuri pulls back Victor still feels the memory of his lips on his collarbone, the lightest brush of lips against his own lips, and he can't help himself, really.

 

He plucks the remains of the lime wedge from Yuuri's mouth and fights the urge to press his fingers into that red, red, mouth. He wants to crawl inside him and never leave, linger in the same way that Yuuri has, sliding so easily under his skin.

 

“You've been doing a lot of these all night,” _god,_ his voiced sounded _wrecked,_ “I think it is time we evened the score, _yes?”_

 

Yuuri blinks at him in response before nodding vigorously and smiling. Utterly dazzled, Victor staggers up, lifting Yuuri up by his hips and stumbling over to the coffee table to set him down. There's a lot of whistles and catcalls but they're drowned out by the sensation of the hot breaths puffed into his neck. Yuuri pouts when Victor pulls back and disentangles them to pour himself three shots in a semi-neat row, spilling over slightly in his rush. The cheering starts up again as Victor first sprinkles salt onto the inside of Yuuri's ankle, then the inside of his knee, then feeling daring, on the inside of his thigh. Victor presses a fresh lime into the pout of Yuuri's mouth as Yuuri's eyes burn into him, and if his fingers linger a bit on those lips, well, he's drunk – coordination is hard. 

 

Yuuri looks at him from half-lidded eyes, as Victor kneels between his thighs, lifting his ankle up to run his tongue where he sprinkled the first bit of salt, where the bone juts out, hard but delicate, the perfect little indent to dip is tongue into, to curve his lips around. He lingers slightly over the arch of Yuuri's foot, then he presses forward eyes still burning into Yuuri's, running the flat of his tongue over the inside of his knee (under slightly different circumstances he would whisper secrets here, murmur softly, _I know we just met, but I feel like I haven't existed until today – this is_ real _, your skin, stretched taut over flesh and bone_ ). Instead he forges onward to the inside of Yuuri's thigh, where the skin is hot, thin, delicate, he lets his lips linger there – where he can feel the pulse of Yuuri's blood, of his heart before pulling back just enough to down two tequila shots in rapid succession. 

 

Victor casts a considering eye over the third and final shot before pressing Yuuri flat onto the table, matching mischievous glints in their eyes before winking and pouring the final shot over the other skater's navel. The whistling and cheering comes to a crescendo as Victor dips down sucking the alcohol out of Yuuri's belly-button, sliding his tongue up down and around – chasing the drips of tequila, warmed by Yuuri's skin, burning down his throat.

 

Then, with his heart thundering in his ears, Victor is climbing over Yuuri on the table, slanting his mouth over his, Yuuri's hands clasped tightly over his shoulders as he retrieves the lime from between his teeth, Yuuri follows Victor up as he pulls back and sits up, sliding effortlessly into Victor's lap like he's always belonged there, face flushed and open. 

 

He's jarred back to the reality of a room full of people around them as claps and catcalls fill the room, and he's given a few congratulatory slaps on the back. They spend the rest of the night tucked into a quiet corner as the party slowly winds down around them. Yuuri draped across his lap, warm and close and perfect. Even his earlobes are cute. Victor has always been weak to his impulses (even without downing all this alcohol) and is very gratified by Yuuri giggling into his skin as he gives those aforementioned earlobes a few playful nibbles.

 

He's pondering giving the smooth canvas of Yuuri's neck some  _decoration_ with the studied focus of a truly drunk man when he's interrupted by Chris.

 

“It's getting late, are you ok to take him back?”

 

Victor looks around, observing that people were starting to filter out. He hummed noncommittally. 

 

“Yeah, help me dress him?”

 

While they do manage to get most of the buttons on Yuuri's shirt, Yuuri's stubborn refusal to wear pants combined with how shot both of their coordinations are means that Victor just drapes Yuuri's pants over his shoulder, recognizing a lost cause (though it's hardly a loss). 

 

* * *

 

They're halfway down the hallway before Yuuri tumbles down, when he manages to sit up, his entire upper body sways as he laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever experienced. Victor checks him over slowly trying to block out the buzz of alcohol in his veins when he pauses, surprised by the feeling of warm fingers smoothing the crease between his brows that had been knitted in concentration. He looks up to see Yuuri smiling at him, secret and soft and he feels his heart lurch.

 

He feels himself smile back before pulling Yuuri to his feet. They manage a few more shaky steps before Yuuri loses his footing again, but this time Victor is able to catch him around his waist. Seeing what a dangerous proposition walking is Victor slides his other arm behind Yuuri's knees before sweeping him up, carrying him tucked close to his chest. Yuuri's arms slide automatically behind his shoulder, his head coming to rest under Victor's chin.

 

“My hero,” he says with a raised eyebrow and laughter underlying his tone.

 

Victor thinks that he's smiled more tonight than he has smiled in the past year (media smiles don't count).

 

Victor fumbles only a little with the key when he gets to Yuuri's room, but he does manage it without dropping anything.

 

He deposits Yuuri onto the bed. Tucking him carefully into the sheets, snug and warm. He smooths down the tufts of Yuuri's hair, soft and fluffed up from where he was wearing his tie on his head earlier before putting his glasses on the nightstand. He feels heartsore – somehow more than he did than when they were necking like teenagers back in Chris's room. He wants to bundle Yuuri up in blankets, just roll him up and tuck him into his pocket so he can keep him always. It's ridiculous, they've barely just met – but he can't help it.

 

It's a novelty – to feel things again after so long, to want things so much that he can feel his heart beating against his ribcage; vital, _alive._ He's not in love, _but he wants to be_. 

 

He's leaning in again, drawn by that warm, dark gaze. Yuuri slides his hand up, fingers pushing his hair back, nails lightly scratching his scalp. Victor's skin is abuzz with the sensation, with the tequila still lingering on the back of his tongue before he's being pulled back into a sloppy wet kiss, teeth and tongue and desire.

 

He forces himself to pull away, breathless. His gaze drawn to the obscene spit slick shine of Yuuri's lips, now forming themselves into a pout.

 

“Not tonight.” He silences the coming protests with a press of fingers to lips, which turns out to be a mistake as Yuuri takes the opportunity to wrap his lips around them, shameless, eyes full of mischief.

 

Victor groans, exasperation and want all rolled into one before he presses Yuuri back into the sheets to kiss him breathless in return. Mapping out his mouth with his tongue, sucking bruises onto his lips. One kiss after another, each slowly subsiding, ebbing like the tide, before fading into soft chaste presses that don't make him ache any less, don't make him want any less.

 

When he pulls back, Yuuri looks as dazed as he feels, a flush smattered across his cheeks, a soft grin pulling at his lips. An entreaty in the curve of his body, like a parenthesis wishing for it's match, wishing to be closed, complete.

 

“Goodnight Yuuri,” he tucks the blankets firmly around Yuuri one more time before pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

 

He sways to his feet, forcing himself to straighten his clothes, armor slowly sliding back into place as he leaves for the lonely quiet of his own room.

 

* * *

 

That night he lies awake, unsettled in his own skin. Memory and phantom touch on his arms, his lips.

 

He's always been a selfish man. Hungry for more, for everything. He's never satisfied with anything less.

 

The buzz won't leave his mind, his skin.

 

He slides his hand down, grips his already half-filled cock, smearing and spreading the precum beading at the tip with his thumb, sliding it down its length.

 

He thinks of dark lashes, and brown eyes. A red, wet mouth. Laughter muffled against his chest. Lithe limbs that music moved with, instead of the other way around. He thinks of the memory of that skin against his lips, his tongue. He's filled with a vague sense of guilt, but it's not enough to deter him as he brings his hand up and licks it, getting it wet enough to alleviate the friction before returning back to his cock, sliding his hand faster.

 

He wants to press Yuuri down, sink down on his dick and ride him until Yuuri is breathless – orgasm punched out of him, eyes and lips round and open, and before he has time to recover, Victor is going to tip him back, split him open, bend him in half and fuck into him while Yuuri's semen drips down his thigh. Press his cock in and in _and in_ until Yuuri's flesh molds to the memory and shape of his cock. Stain Yuuri so indelibly inside, mark him so deeply so that he can _keep_ him, so that Yuuri has no choice but to _be_ _kept._

 

He comes quietly, groan bitten off, a deep ache settling in the back of his throat even as his semen pools and cools on his stomach. 

 

He feels ruined. He hasn't  _felt_ in so long. It stings, thrown in sharp relief against years of growing up and growing numb. Years of having only the ice, and then having that slowly fade away as well. Every year, absentmindedly chewing on his quiet miseries until they became bland and tasteless in his mouth. He is ruined, and he's euphoric, he feels as if his heart could burst from it. 

 

If he dreams that night, he doesn't remember it in the morning. 

 

 

Months later, in the quiet of his apartment he's struck dumb again, staring at a video taken on a shaky camera half a world away. 

 

There had been a part of him, a small quiet part that was scared. Scared that night was all just a fluke, that he'd wake up the next day and nothing will have really changed. That it was all a product of champagne bubbles, the magic of an evening and his fickle, flighty heart. That he'd wake up as if from a dream, grasping at things long out of his reach. That possibly the best night of his life in recent memory was just some drunken fling at a hotel after-party, unremarkable except to him.

 

Victor's heart feels raw and tender when he looks at Yuuri glide across the ice, his body singing  _Stammi Vicino –_ singing  _stay close to me,_ the same way every line of his body asked him to stay that night.

 

It's daytime outside, sunlight streaming through the windows, bright and sharp and real; Victor is stone cold sober, and he  _wants._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this absolute terrible dumpster fire brought to you by and written for my wonderful enablers on discord
> 
> #supportgroupshenanigans  
> #doitforthediscord
> 
>    
> [tungle](http://lyefish.tumblr.com)


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